


can he see or is he blind?

by oatbee



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Daddy Kink, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Light Angst, Light Bondage, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Praise Kink, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Statutory Rape, Teen Angst, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2019-08-06 16:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16390889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oatbee/pseuds/oatbee
Summary: A lot of things separated Peter Parker and Tony Stark—wealth, status, intelligence, and an age gap of approximately thirty years. But hey, who's counting?





	1. grey area

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case you couldn't tell by the superheroes, this is a work of fiction. So if you're offended by the problematic nature of this character pairing, good news! It's not real. Enjoy! 
> 
> P.S.: There will be a song to go along with every chapter. Original, I know.
> 
> chapter track: hold it in - jukebox the ghost

As the last of his muscles twitched and relaxed, Peter sighed in exhaustion and disgust as he eyed the mess he had made. He was sprawled out on his bed, limbs limp, with his own fluids messily painted on his chest. He always hated the aftermath—it made him feel dirty. Not because of the act itself, but because of what provoked it: Tony Stark, his mentor, who was over half his age. No matter how many terribly scripted pornos he watched, thinking of Tony was the only thing that sent him over the edge. Whether it was some impossible twisted fantasy Peter thought up or simply a passing glimpse of the charismatic billionaire’s face from his memory. He was it. It overtook Peter like a disease and he found himself moaning the older man’s name night after night, which made maintaining their professional relationship damn near impossible. Tony would grab his shoulder or accidentally brush his hand and it took all the mental strength in the universe to keep his composure. After all, there was no way Tony was interested in him. Peter was clumsy and awkward and didn’t know what to do with his hands most of the time, and Tony was...well, he was Tony Stark. It drove him insane. Trying to learn from someone who made his dick twitch every time they made eye contact, who sparked deliciously filthy images within Peter’s mind whenever Tony lifted his arms and exposed that forbidden strip of skin just above his belt—

_Buzz. Buzz. Buzz._

The familiar yodeling of his ringtone snapped him out of his imagination. He made a mental note to change that. _Mr. Stark!!!!!_ was displayed prominently on the screen, followed by a pair of emoji sunglasses. Peter fumbled to wipe his hands on his sheets before nervously pressing the answer button. “Mr. Stark?”

_“Hey kid, sorry for the late call, but I need you to come to my workshop this weekend. I just figured out how to modify the suit so that—are you out of breath?”_

Shit.

“Oh, I uh, I went for a run,” Peter spat, his erection slightly returning from the idea of being caught. He wondered what dirty things Tony would instruct him to do over the phone. _Good boy,_ he’d say. _Bring the phone closer, I want to hear those pretty little noises you make when you cu–_

_“You went for a run? At 10:00 at night?”_

“Y-Yeah,” he sputtered as his erection made its painful return. “Just uh...surveying the area for any bad guys! I mean, I wasn’t in my suit, but uh...gotta stay in shape, you know?” He mentally cursed at himself. Gotta stay in shape? Nice one, Parker.

 _“Yeah, sure, whatever,”_ Tony mumbled, metal tools clanking loudly in the background. _“I’ll talk to May and send Happy to pick you up this Friday. Oh, and Pete?”_

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Y-Yes, Mr. Stark?”

_“Try not to do anything majorly idiotic on your little late-night runs. I need you here in one piece. Grey area, remember?”_

“Y-Yes, Mr. Stark. Grey area...You got it.”

A muffled  _Jesus Christ_ could be heard on the other end, followed by a loud crash and sigh.  _"Tell me, how is it that I'm the face of a multi-million dollar weapons and technology company yet seemingly have failed in creating robots capable of performing simple tasks without shitting themselves?"_ Another loud crash, followed by a string of colorful language rang through the line. _"Actually, don't answer that. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some very fussy toddlers to attend to._ _See you this weekend, kid. Adios.”_ And with that, Peter was left staring at his lock screen and the throbbing bulge in his pants. 

This was going to be a long week. 

* * *

 

A weekend getaway—if you could call it that—with Tony proved to be enough to derail Peter’s train of thought and send it crashing full-speed into Stark City. During pre-calculus, he planned his outfits down to the underwear, with the feeble hope of somehow getting Tony to slip them off. In Spanish, he thought about whether or not they’d have dinner together, and made a mental note to pack some breath mints. You know, just in case. In history, he wondered how big it was, and whether or not he kept his hair _down there_ as clean-shaven as he kept his beard. The lesson that day had been on Hitler’s rise to power, so it was, objectively, not the greatest time to pop a chub. In physics, he mentally rehearsed his conversational skills to avoid another blunder like their last phone call. _Hey Tony, nice place._ No, no, that was way too casual. He wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to call him Tony. _Greetings, Mr. Stark, what a fine estate you have here!_ God, no, that was too formal. That’d probably go over worse than the first one. _Hi Daddy—_

Okay, now he was just being ridiculous.

When Friday finally rolled around, Ned and MJ could tell something was up. Peter was practically bubbling over with excitement, talking rapidly and bouncing his legs like he had an IV drip of five-hour energy. MJ removed herself from her doodles, cocking an eyebrow and shooting Peter one of her famous _I’m-about-to-say-something-slightly-offensive-so-brace-yourself_ looks.

“Are you on coke? Because if you are, it was kind of a dick move not to share.”

Ned rolled his eyes.“Dude! He’s not on coke!” He turned to Peter, observing his jittery hands and slightly terrifying smile. “...You aren’t on coke, right?”

He giggled—like really giggled, one of those high-pitched rapid-fire laughs that teenage girls did when they were around a cute boy—and looked down at the chicken nuggets on his lunch tray. He dreamily moved them around with his fork, making them bump into each other like planets colliding.

“I promise I’m not high on cocaine. High on life, maybe, but definitely not cocaine.” He giggled to himself again, like the smitten little schoolgirl that he was. MJ mumbled something along the lines of _oh my fucking God_ before shoving her face into her jacket sleeves, muffling her hysterical bout of laughter. Ned stared in confusion, head darting from Peter to MJ and from MJ back to Peter.

“Is there or is there not cocaine? Because frankly, I am _very_ confused about the situation.”

MJ, collecting herself, lifted her head from her arms and let out a few stray chuckles before singing, “Pe-ter’s got a boy-friend!”

“Hey, shut up!” Peter exclaimed, his cheeks beginning to burn a light crimson color. “I do not.”

“Oh please, P, cut the shit,” she said flatly, rolling her eyes. “You’ve been fucking _floating_ all week. Remember the rule about sharing cocaine? Well, it also applies to your gay escapades.” She leaned back, crossing her arms and staring the love-stricken boy directly in the eyes. “Spill.”

He thought for a moment, imagining what it would be like if Tony was his secret love affair. God, it’d be hot. He wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to keep it a secret. He’d certainly have to, to protect the man’s reputation and all, and there’s also the legal side of things…

“Hello? Earth to lover boy?”

Upon Peter’s return, he realized that both Ned and MJ were staring at him with painfully inquisitive eyes.

“It’s not like that,” he insisted, the crimson color spreading down his neck like wildfire. “I’m doing some stuff with the Stark internship this weekend and I’m a little excited, okay? A teenage boy can be excited about something that isn’t sex, you know!” Only, he _was_ excited about sex. Imaginary, hopeless sex. He was excited at the slight possibility of Tony tracing his figure with his hands, probably rough and calloused from years of projects in his workshop. He was excited that he might get to hear Tony’s low, deep, stupidly alluring voice praising Peter and calling him Daddy’s little–

“So it’s Tony Stark,” MJ concluded, feigning surprise by covering her comically agape mouth with her hand. “Wow, Peter, didn’t know you had a thing for old rich men. You gold digger, you.”

Peter didn’t know it was humanly possible for his face to get any _goddamn redder_ , but once again, his cheeks were set ablaze. “He’s my mentor! And could be my _dad!_ Not in a weird way, like...like an age way! Plus he’s a freaking billionaire philanthropist! As if he’d even bother with a dorky sixteen year old like m–”

“Joking.”

MJ and Ned were staring at Peter, bewildered by his sudden outburst. He chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and diverting his eyes back to his chicken nuggets.

“Y-Yeah, of course, sorry. I’m just stressed, is all.” They remained silent, so he added, “That was really funny, MJ.”

“Yeah, I _know_ it was. Ugh. That’s the problem with our generation. No one appreciates dry humor…” And like that, she was off on another one of her tangents, diverting the topic of conversation away from Peter’s apparent taste in middle-aged men. Ned was listening intently, chiming in for brief moments before getting buried under MJ’s avalanche of words, and Peter remained silent, eyes still trained on the processed food before him. Sure, she was joking, but he couldn’t help asking himself, _is it that obvious?_ Peter had been infatuated with Stark before he’d even met him, and was content from admiring from afar. But now that the older man was a part of Peter’s life, it felt like a sick tease by fate. A forbidden temptation. He knew it was wrong, he really did, but that didn’t stop his mind from conjuring up images of Stark’s cock sliding in and out of his lips. He’d never wanted anything more intensely in his life. He _needed_ him.

It was torture.


	2. the square root of spiderman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets naked in Tony’s workshop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter track: out of my league - fitz and the tantrums

The flight over took significantly less time than Peter had expected. But then again, the jet was a Stark model, and nothing with the name "Stark" attached to it was very conventional. He attempted to make conversation with Happy but was not-so-pleasantly reminded of the man's standoffish, gruff manner. Maybe that's why Stark kept him around. He did always have a flair for the ironic.

Upon their descent, Peter’s heart began to race. Meeting with Tony never got easier. Granted, he hadn’t done very often, but when he did it always triggered his fight or flight response—as if his body registered Tony as an immediate threat to Peter’s wellbeing. Hell, maybe he was. It couldn’t be healthy to feel the way he did about Stark. Lusting for a man over half his age was a surefire way to get daddy issues branded on his forehead with a hot iron. He didn’t want to think about that though. The psychological explanation behind his boner was quite the mood killer. Besides, it’s not as if he’d _actually_ try anything with Tony.

Unless Tony tried something with him first. Then it was fair game. And _God_ , he hoped it’d be fair game.

After they landed, Happy escorted Peter to a small black car with tinted windows. They drove in silence, though the teen's heart was beating so hard he was almost positive the other man could hear it. His mind ran through the normal scenarios—if you could call them normal—of Tony fucking him, all in glorious technicolor. Against a table, on a chair, maybe against one of his sports cars…

“Were you planning on getting out of the car any time soon?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Happy’s voice cut through Peter’s delicious daydream, and it was then that he realized where they were. Tony Stark’s mansion. It was modern, chic, and probably worth triple what Peter would ever make in his entire life. Overlooking the cliff side, it stood high above the water, yet close enough that the crashing waves could faintly be heard. That must be nice to fall asleep to, Peter thought. And of course, it also made him wonder what fucking would be like. He wasn’t sure that the waves were audible inside the mansion itself, but they could do it outside. The sun would be setting, illuminating their naked bodies in a warm orange glow. They would crash together like the waves, their senses overcome with tsunamis of pleasure. He melted at the romance of it.

They walked up the path, the yard sprinkled with palm trees and decorative shrubs. Each step closer to the mansion made Peter’s heart thump harder. He’d met the man before—hell, he’d been in Peter’s _bedroom_.

So why did he feel like he was about to fall off the planet?

Happy entered and motioned for Peter to follow, passing an array of rooms and stairwells for what seemed like an eternity before a familiar voice broke the silence.

“Hey, kid.”

_Oh, God. Oh, God._

“H-Hey, Mr. Stark!”

Tony sauntered up, wrapping an arm around Peter’s tense shoulders.

“I’ll take it from here. Thank you, Dearest.” He blew an air kiss at the other man, earning a painfully fake smile and a grunt in return.

The two began to walk, Tony’s arm still locked around Peter in an affectionate squeeze. “How was the flight over? You and Happy make nice?”

“It was so cool! It took like, half the time I thought it would! I didn’t even get to finish my physics lab!” He was practically beaming with excitement, though now a little embarrassed that he’d just told Tony about his homework that he brought. He was talking with his hands, which were slightly covered by the sleeves of his large-fitting hoodie. He was like a kid in a toy store. “...and I still don’t think Happy likes me very much.”

“He doesn’t like anyone very much. That’s why I love him. The man’s a walking oxymoron.” He slipped his arm off of Peters shoulders, lightly brushing over the back of his neck. The teen had to clench his jaw to keep his composure. Having spidey-senses meant _everything_ was heightened, even when he wasn’t in immediate danger. It produced a similar feeling, however. It wasn’t fear—no, he wasn’t afraid of the man. Sure, he made him nervous, but never afraid. He couldn’t put a name to it, but it was on the tip of his tongue. It was something along the lines of—

Tony playfully ruffled a hand through Peter’s hair, flashing the most perfect goddamn smile and cheekiest wink the boy had ever seen. “Don’t take him too seriously, kid.”

— _desire_.

The pair walked down a few hallways, entering the living area. Peter’s mouth was agape as he scanned the massive room, concluding that it was roughly the same size of his entire house. In terms of square footage, it was probably bigger, but he decided that an underestimation would spare a bit of his dignity.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a room this big! In someone’s house, I mean. This is just…wow…”

Tony chuckled at the teen’s amazement, watching him explore the room like an art museum. He was definitely out of his comfort zone, yet those inquisitive eyes kept him busy with observations. It was adorable, really.

“You bring the suit?”

Peter’s head whipped around at the sudden voice. “What?”

“Your crime-fighting costume. Technologically advanced neighborhood watch getup. You bring it?”

“O-Oh! Yeah, sorry…” He pulled off his backpack and set it on the floor, tugging at the zippers to reveal an assortment of clothing articles. At the bottom was his suit, neatly folded and concealed under a slightly oversized flannel. He slipped it out, lifting it up to show Tony while giving a sheepish, almost childlike smile.

He was really milking the adorkable teenager act, though his endearing awkwardness came blatantly natural—that much was obvious. The other half, however—the innocence—Tony wasn’t so sure of. He knew Peter. He knew about his fits of nervousness, or how small talk wasn’t his strong suit, but he also knew that he was smart. He was damn-near _genius_. Smarter than Tony was at his age. He had the intuition to adapt to situations and apprehend criminals, not to mention otherworldly physical strength and stealth gifted to him by a certain radioactive spider. Oh yeah, and a tragic backstory.

The kid had layers.

And this virtuous schoolboy façade? Tony wasn’t buying it. He wasn’t sure why or when he began to see past his mask of innocence—all he knew is that Peter was more of a complex equation than he was letting on.

And Tony was determined to solve him.

He motioned for Peter to follow as he turned around, walking down another hallway before entering his code and descending the staircase that led to his workshop. The teen was so fucking giddy it was a miracle he didn’t fall down the length of the damn thing. Tony breezed down the steps, leaving Peter to wander, and immediately sauntered over to his work station. He figured he’d let the kid explore a little before diving into the nitty gritty—though he knew Peter would get a kick out of that, too. Tony began pulling up the interactive blueprints, moving them around with a few waves of his fingertips while watching his little protégé. Peter was repeating his behavior from upstairs, gazing at each crevice of Tony’s workspace, both compartmentalizing its setup and appreciating its beauty. Peter may be putting up a front, but there was no way to hide the twinkle in his eyes when he looked at Tony’s workspace. It was a normal thing to the older man to be praised, lusted after even, but for some unknown reason it felt _different_ coming from the kid. Better, maybe. He wasn’t sure. He’d settle with different for now.

“So, uh...this is where you make your stuff? Suits, I mean. This is where you do that?” Peter had one hand in his front jean pocket, the other running through the mess of curls residing on the top of his head. He was still jittery and stuttering, but he could feel himself loosening up a bit. Or at least, he hoped that was the case.

Tony flashed another smile in Peter’s direction. “Bingo.” He pushed the holographic digital blueprints towards the teen, following them in a confident strut as he talked. “Upstairs? That’s just a formality. Living quarters, so to speak. But this?” he beamed, enthusiastically smacking the metal desk next to him, “This is the real deal. My humble abode. My fortress of solitude. _Mi casa_. You take Spanish, right?”

“Uh, yeah! H-How did yo–”

“Well, right now, it’s _tu casa_. Better get used to it, kid, because we’re gonna make a lot of modifications to that suit of yours. Modifications that are tailored to your body specifically. Anatomy meets weapons technology. Maximum enhancements. Optimal performance. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Y-Yes, Mr. Stark, that’s awesome! But uh, where can I set my stuff do–”

“You can thank Stephen Strange for my little enlightenment. Turns out the asshole was actually a doctor. You’d think someone with an M.D. would be smart enough to know when his outfit is tacky.”

“Wait, was that the guy with the cape?”

“Yes, but not important. What is important is you taking off your clothes and standing on that big metal circle over there.”

And just like that, any composure Peter had gained flew out the window like he’d opened a hatch on an airplane flying 45,000 feet in the air. “You...I have to... _what?_ ”

“Relax, you can keep your underwear on. This new suit tech will scan your epidermis and temporarily bind the suit to the top few layers of your skin. No rips, no tears, minimal damage, and optimal mobility.”

Peter was standing there, wide-eyed, still fully clothed with both straps of his bag still over his shoulders. His face was burning, and of course, his dirty thoughts made their usual appearance. Though this time, with good reason. Standing in front of Tony in his underwear, letting the machine he designed analyze every inch of his skin...it sounded like something from a nerdy porn film. One that Peter definitely would’ve watched.

Sensing the boy’s nervousness, Tony sighed and pushed the blueprints aside, calmly walking over to the red-faced teen. To Peter’s surprise, however, he walked past and stood behind him. He gently grasped the straps of Peter’s school bag and slid them down his shoulders, speaking to him in a soothing, almost hushed tone. “It won’t hurt. Any of it. The new bindings will even counteract some of your pain receptors, so your skin will work just like armor. And that’s just when you have the suit on. Trust me, Pete, there’s nothing to be worried about.”

“I...i-it’s not that I don’t trust your technology, I do! I really do. It’s just...I don’t know, I just got here and I’m already getting naked!” He regretfully laughed, _really_ wishing he hadn’t just said that. “I mean...you said it yourself, your robots are like toddlers! And there’s a bunch of cameras in here…”

They stared at each other for a moment.

“...Sorry, I’ll just, uh...take my clothes off now.”

“No, I get it. Teenage boy insecure about his body. Dum-E, go away. JARVIS, disable all security cameras in the shop for the next few hours.”

_“As you wish, sir.”_

Peter jumped slightly at the response, not expecting a British man to also be in their presence. “Uh, is that–”

“It’s like what’s in your suit—well, was. What’d you name her? Karen?”

Peter nodded.

“Well, JARVIS is Karen, but bigger. Monitors the whole place instead of a sixteen year old’s body. Cool, huh?”

Peter nodded. Again. He wasn’t really sure what to do besides keep nodding. Tony was throwing so many bits of information at him, he felt like he was trying to complete a 6,000,000 piece puzzle with no “after” picture. Or a lego Death Star with no instructions. “Wow, that’s, uh…”

“Amazing, I know. Don’t flatter him, though. He’s kind of an ass sometimes.” Tony chuckled to himself, waving his arms and bringing back the blueprints, tilting certain portions and maximizing others. “Now, step on the platform, please.”

Peter gulped. He clumsily slipped out of his clothes, setting them on the ground in a little pile. He walked over to the metal circle, his bare feet slapping against the cold, hard ground of Tony’s _casa_.

Which was, apparently, _his casa_ as well. For now, at least.

He stood in the center, feeling like an antique vase up for auction. Though he wasn’t sure he’d get many bids. Tony was still moving around the blueprints, organizing them in a fashion Peter didn’t even try to understand. He wondered what the device would do to him, if it’d just scan him with a sensor or if it’d be more...physical.

He wondered if it’d feel good.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Do not think about that right now. Don’t get a boner. Don’t get a boner._

Tony strode over to the half-naked boy, once again maneuvering to his back side. Peter heard some rustling, and then felt a small, cold metal object press against the back of his neck.

“You might feel a teeny tiny pinch, but after that it’s smooth sailing.”

“W-Wait, I thought you said none of it would hurt?”

“Come on, kid, it’ll feel like one tenth of a bee sting. I would know, I tried it.” He chuckled, rubbing the tender spot on the back of his neck. “Many times. Trying to make it less painful for _you_. Didn’t always feel like one tenth.”

Peter stuttered for a moment before thanking him, a little more heat rising to his cheeks at the mention of the gesture. It was...kind.

He took a deep breath and clenched his eyes shut. “I’m ready now.”

“Good, because it’s already on.”

He decided it was a funny feeling, getting his skin analyzed. The sensation was like a million ants scurrying down his arms and legs, wrapping around his torso—but a bit rougher. Not painful, though. Just rougher. Like getting licked by a cat. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t exactly the most relaxing experience, either. It actually sort of tickled.

His body tensed slightly at the first introduction of the odd feeling, but eventually made him slide into a fit of giggles. Not just from the ant-cat-tongue sensation, but from where he was and what he was doing. He was standing in front of Tony Stark in his underwear having the entirety of his epidermis explored by tiny sensors. He wasn’t even fantasizing—he was just floored by the sheer comedy of his predicament. The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous. It was then, through his quiet laughter, that he realized Tony was staring at him.

“Am I, uh, am I doing something wrong?”

“Nope.”

Tony was doing some scanning of his own, his eyes wandering all over the boy’s body. He wondered how the hell a kid like _that_ could be as self conscious as he was—he should have a goddamn superiority complex. He had a genetic advantage, for Christ’s sake. True, it was a mutation, but it didn’t change the fact that his body was elevated. The kid looked like a Hollister model.

Peter began to get antsy, feeling Tony’s eyes burning into his skin. The way his hand was resting on his chin, tilting his head and exposing his chiseled jawline covered in stubble—it was downright provocative. “...Oh. Um, okay,” he gulped.

“Just trying to figure you out.”

 _Figure him out?_ Peter hadn’t the slightest clue what that meant, but he did know one thing:

It excited the hell of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you guys liked this chapter as much as you liked the last one! Thanks so much for the kudos and comments! Things will start picking up in the next couple chapters, so read your little hearts out.


	3. a shawarma bees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter ruins shawarma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Adult life, yanno? Anyway, I hope you like cliffhangers! Wink wink.
> 
> chapter track: take me out - franz ferdinand

__The scans and tests were never ending—just when Peter thought he was finally done, Tony would convince him that it was just one more. One quickly turned into a dozen, and the teen’s body was exhausted and overstimulated. Nothing was particularly painful, but the sensations were just unpleasant enough to warrant a quiet annoyance; though admittedly, the knowledge that Tony cared enough about the kid to take damn near every safety precaution was comforting.

And slightly intriguing.

What was more intriguing, unsurprisingly, was the comment Tony had practically speared Peter with earlier— _just trying to figure you out._ He didn’t know how to feel about it, or if he should even _feel_ about it at all. He thought perhaps he was digging too deep, that it was just an empty comment meant to bounce off of Peter like a casual pleasantry, but it stuck. It stuck to him like a fucking leech, draining him of all his rationality. The possible connotations of that phrase were driving him insane. He knew Tony probably didn’t mean it to be as provocative as it was—seduction was practically in his blood—but the way he tilted his head and examined Peter’s body felt all too intentional. This sensation he was feeling was difficult to put a name on. Intimidation was too aggressive, but intrigue was too weak. It took him a few minutes of silent contemplation to come up with the right word: _temptation_. Tony was the apple in Peter’s Garden of Eden. It was so much more than lust, so much more than a surface-level attraction—it was a sort of sickness, a desire far beyond his comprehension of what desire even was, his longing for the forbidden fruit. But he couldn't, could he? He inwardly chuckled to himself at the thought of Tony being the snake, instead.

“Well kid,” the older man spoke, the confidence in his voice cutting through the air that seemed a bit denser than before, “I think we’re done for today. Good work.” He patted the younger boy on the shoulder and gave it a gingerly squeeze, letting his hand linger for what seemed like a millisecond too long. “Dinner?”

Peter gave his best _I-wasn’t-just-picturing-you-naked_ smile and nodded, afraid his voice would shake too much if he verbally replied. He gulped down the words, grounding himself in the task of locating his clothes. He took a few steps forward before he felt a hand on his chest gently pushing him back.

“I’ll get ‘em.” Tony strode over to Peter’s discarded garments, saying something about how tired the kid probably was and commenting on how many tests they ran. To be fair, Peter’s body did have a much higher threshold for this kind of thing, but his current mental state certainly didn't lend any helping hands. His body felt like jello, partly from exhaustion and mostly from anxiety, and his mind was a sad heap of vulgar images and dirty, dirty hypotheticals.

Tony handed Peter the pile of his wadded-up clothes (way to fold, Parker) and flashed him a cheeky grin. “You know what I want right now?” His stomach dropped. _Oh my god. Is this happening? Right now? God, no, get a grip Peter, there's no way he’d want to fu-_

“Shawarma. You ever had shawarma, kid?”

“No, sir, I’ve never, uh, I’ve never had that.” His stomach, now on the floor, grumbled quite audibly.

“Sounds like you want to,” Tony joked, motioning to Peter’s wailing belly. “JARVIS, two orders of the usual from that shawarma joint.”

_“Right away, sir.”_

The two of them moved around in silence for a while, Peter reclothing himself and Tony putting both tangible and digitized tools back in their designated cabinets and folders. After what seemed like an eternity, the teen spoke:

“Hey, Mr. Stark?”

Tony lifted his head and made a sort of _hmm?_ noise, his eyes taking a few seconds to leave the tools in his hands and focus on the boy. Peter cleared his throat.

“I, uh, I just wanted to say thank you for, um, for bringing me out here. I know it was just for the suit and everything but it’s really cool to, uh, see your shop and house and...stuff.” Somewhere in the middle of him talking his eyes had moved to the floor. After he was finished he rubbed the back of his neck, painfully aware of the word vomit he just spewed all over himself. He heard the soft slam of a tool drawer, with footsteps in his direction not long after. He looked up to find Tony painfully close to him, making direct eye contact.

“Did I do something?” he inquired, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “Because most of the time I can pinpoint where and when I’ve been an asshole. But you’ve been acting like a kicked puppy, and I can't help but wonder if my asshole calculations are off.”

Peter stared. Those were not the words he expected to come out of Tony’s mouth.

“So tell me,” he continued, “if I did something. You can't eat shawarma angry.”

He kept staring. What the hell was he supposed to say? _Sorry, Mr. Stark, I can’t stop imagining you shoving your cock in my mouth._

“I guess I’m just, um, tired. Yeah. From the tests. That’s all! You didn't do anything wrong, Mr. Stark.” _But I want you to_. “I’m sure I’ll feel better after I eat some of that, uh, whatever you said.”

“Shawarma, kid,” he chuckled lightly, “like a shawarma bees.”

Peter couldn't help but grin.

 

* * *

They chatted, Tony boasted about some of his new ideas to a mind that would appreciate and understand more than most (though still slight), Peter struggled to keep his eyes off of the man’s body, the food came, they ate, Tony praised the dish before them, all was well.

Until it wasn't.

About halfway through the meal, Peter’s dick had decided that time was of the essence. It sprung into action like something out of a pop-up book, and the teen tried his damndest to keep the bastard at bay. He was doing a pretty good job of it, too, being able to subdue his erection while half-naked and under Tony’s examination. But for some godforsaken reason, when Tony touched him this time, it nearly sent him spiraling. Just another one of his friendly shoulder squeezes, nothing special. Except it was. It was _so_ special, having Tony touch him. He didn't care where. Anywhere. Everywhere.

“Kid? You alright? You look flushed.” He held the back of his hand up to Peter’s forehead, unknowingly dousing the flames with gasoline. “Jesus, you’re burning up.”

Peter choked out a miserable, “I’m okay,” before he felt the hand retreat.

“Are you sure? I feel like I pushed you too hard today.” He looked at the boy with genuine concern, his brows furrowed and lips pressed into a slight frown. “You know you can tell me to stop anytime, right?”

 _I don’t want you to stop. You can do anything you want to me_. “I know, Mr. Stark, but uh, I’m okay! Really! Just um, just tired, like I said earlier.”

“You look more than tired, Pete.” His voice adopted a stricter, more serious tone that made Peter’s knees shake. “Don’t lie to me.”

 _What are you gonna do about it?_ “I’m not, Mr. Stark, I promise!” His breaths were shaky and uneven.

At this point Tony had stood up, walked behind Peter, and had placed two hands on the back of his chair. “Come on, kid, you need some rest.” He pulled, exposing the teen’s stiff erection from under the table. Peter defensively shoved his hands down on top of himself, poorly concealing the unmistakable boner they were both painfully aware of. He tried to speak, but all that he could muster were small, strained choking sounds.

Tony glanced down for a handful of seconds before quickly averting his gaze, now sporting his own rosiness. He cleared his throat and mumbled something about a spare bedroom before disappearing down the hall, leaving Peter alone and mortified, staring at the remnants of a pleasant evening’s shawarma.


End file.
